


Midnight Refreshments

by Aridette, TheWritingGuineapig (Aridette)



Series: Short Haytham/Connor Stories [7]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Dom/sub, Dreaming, Dubious Consent, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Non-Consensual, Trance - Freeform, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-14
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-04-26 10:12:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5000782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aridette/pseuds/Aridette, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aridette/pseuds/TheWritingGuineapig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(non-con tag for non-consensual blood drinking and mind alteration)</p>
<p>After his final fight with Charles Lee, Connor is confined to his bed for a while, and he is having the weirdest dreams .... they are dreams, aren't they?</p>
<p>Happy Halloween! =D</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Refreshments

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brokibrodinson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokibrodinson/gifts).



> This little fanfic is dedicated to our dear friend [brokibrodinson](http://archiveofourown.org/users/brokibrodinson), whose birthday is coming up soon. However, the post might get lost in the AC Syndicate hype/hate if we put it online on the correct day. Everyone seems to be in the mood for Halloween posts already anyway =)  
> So here you go!

The Homestead, 1783

 

The oil lamp on his bedside table was the only source of light in his room. The night was quiet, only disrupted by the chirping of the crickets outside. Usually he didn't have problems with falling asleep, yet without anything to do during the day this simple task was getting harder and harder with each night.

Connor's wounds weren't infected and healing rather well, all things considered. However, he still couldn't strain his body like he was used to.  
  
He sighed. There wasn't much to do aside from going through his father's journals. Doctor White had him stay in bed after all. The books offered distraction, but as interesting a read they were, he felt wrong snooping through his father's most intimate thoughts. He read on nonetheless, driven not only by his boredom, but the deep wish to understand the man that his father had once been.  
  
Connor rubbed his eyes and closed the journal. The last words his father had ever written still rang clear in his head. He put the leather-clad book on his bedside table. If only Haytham had told him more about himself, maybe they could have- … but he hadn't, and there was no way for Connor to righten this mistake now. No, it was useless to think about what-ifs.  
He turned around and fell into an uneasy slumber.  


  
It was dark. The ghost-feeling of a noose around his neck became more prominent every second. He reached for it, tried to pry it off, free himself, regain control of what was happening. To no avail. It wasn't connected to anything. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get a hold of it. He couldn't take it off. He looked around only to find himself surrounded by a pitch black nothingness.  
  
“The difference, Connor, the _only_ difference between myself and those you aid is that I do not feign affection!”  
  
Connor turned around, confused and disoriented. Where did that voice come from?  
A crowd of faceless people took shape all around him, staring at him wordlessly. Nearly all of them seemed blurred and their colours dulled. Nearly. One of them was dressed in a black cape, its hood covering the person's face. But Connor would have recognized the man anywhere.  
“Father?”  
He tried to stumble towards him, to get closer. But his limbs were so heavy he almost couldn't heave them and the direction he was going changed constantly as though the ground was moving. Walking seemed an impossible task. With every step he took the figure of his father was drifting away farther and farther.  
Farther.  
Farther.  
  
  
Connor's eyes snapped open. His heart was racing in his chest, beating heavily against his ribcage.  
Someone else was in his room.  
  
“Go back to sleep, Connor.” the voice from his dream said.  
  
The oil lamp had burnt out and there was no moonlight that night to illuminate the scene. Connor could only see the shape of a person, looming in the dark. He squinted his eyes and changed his vision.  
The red silhouette of a foe was standing by the window. Momentarily Connor reached for the tomahawk under his pillow, but somehow his hand was stopped mid-motion by a red blur and he was pinned down with superhuman strength so abruptly the air was knocked out of his lungs.  
How on earth did this creature move that fast?  
  
“There's no need for hostility.” the same voice said calmly, only inches above him.  
  
Everything around him was glowing red. Connor switched back his vision just to stare into Haytham Kenway's face. His father was dressed in the same black hooded cape he had described in his journal, the same one Connor had seen him wearing in his dream.  
“I am dreaming.” he whispered to himself in his mother tongue.  
  
“This is but a dream.” Haytham said in English, his calm voice in stark contrast to the alarmingly red of his silhouette mere moments ago.  
  
His eyes shone a bright silver and absent-mindedly Connor thought that they were almost glowing, finding himself unable to avert his gaze.  
“A dream.” he repeated, suddenly feeling relaxed.  
Yes, it was just a dream.  
  
“Exactly.” Haytham gave him a satisfied little smile, then let go of his arm. “I hadn't planned to do this while you were awake, but it can't be helped now.” Glowing silver eyes bored into Connor's. They were close, probably closer than was acceptable. But who was there to judge what was acceptable in a dream. “You will be very still, boy. Don't worry, you won't feel a thing.”  
  
And Connor obeyed.  
But why was he?  
He was drawn in by those beautiful silver eyes again, cold like those of a predator. His father's eyes. He didn't dare blinking, just held the gaze. The longer he stared, the more he felt all tension leave his body.  
It didn't matter, it was too much to think about. His father had told him not to worry. And wasn't all this just a dream anyway?  
Long, cold fingers stroked his warm neck and Connor shivered. But not from the cold. It had been months since he had last dreamt of Haytham's touch and though it was icy, he realised he was still yearning for it. The simple touch of gentle fingers tracing his muscles.  
“You are freezing, father.”  
  
Haytham leaned down, his mouth hovering over Connor's neck. Even his breath felt like ice where it ghosted across his skin.  
“Not for long.” he murmured. It sounded as much like a threat as it did a promise.  
Then, Haytham bit down forcefully.  
  
Connor yelped in surprise and pain. But the pain he anticipated never came. In an instant he remembered what his father had told him - that he wouldn't feel a thing. And of course that was right.  
The panic that had risen at the unforeseen action subsided slowly. He could hear his own blood rush through his veins.  
Only Haytham's hungry gulping penetrated the quiet of the night and slowly drowned out every other sound. A sickening, coppery smell filled the air. The crickets chirped outside, untroubled, but unheard.  
  
Just as Connor's head began to feel fuzzy Haytham pulled away. He sat up again and looked at him. His eyes still caught Connor's attention. He almost smiled in satisfaction. A strange and rare sight. Then his gaze wandered lower and Connor mimicked the motion. Haytham's mouth was smeared with blood and just for a second Connor was convinced he saw long fangs as the former Templar Grandmaster licked his lips. Haytham hummed, the satisfaction now more apparent than ever.  
“I have a little present for you.” he said. He raised his own thumb towards his lips. The gesture was almost lascivious. Try as he might, Connor found himself once more incapable of averting his eyes. In a teasingly slow gesture Haytham bit down on the digit until he drew blood. It still oozed blood when he took his son's chin with it. “Open your mouth.”  
  
The words were soft, but there wasn't a doubt in the world that it was a command to be followed.  
Connor did as he was told and Haytham slipped his thumb into his mouth. It tasted of salt and metal, but it wasn't unpleasant. Surprisingly it was rather addictive. He let his tongue glide over the bloodied finger and couldn't hold back a pleased moan. Connor didn't know how or why, but with every drop of blood he swallowed, he felt strong, invincible and loved. A warmth he had never known rushed through his body, making him aware of everything and nothing all at once.  
  
Haytham seemed mildly amused. “You may do as you please.”  
  
Connor took his father's hand into both of his, holding it in place as he sucked on his thumb. His father's skin now felt warm against his own. Warm and solid and wonderfully alive.  
The bleeding stopped and Connor made a little noise of protest as the digit slipped out of his mouth. Haytham chuckled and traced his son's lower lip with the spit-slick thumb.  
  
“You'll feel remarkably better once you awake in the morning, Connor.”  
Haytham leaned down once more, but this time to press his lips against Connor's in the most gentle kiss.  
  
Connor's eyes fluttered shut and his stomach dropped as though he was doing a leap of faith. He felt warm, he felt cold, and one thing he knew for sure: this wasn't a dream.  
When Haytham drew back, Connor opened his eyes and reached for his father's face, cupping it. He gazed at it in amazement, frowning.  
“How is this possible?”  
  
“I have to leave you now. The sun is about to rise.”  
  
The sun? Connor had so many questions, but the most important thing on his mind was that his father stayed with him. He had to. He could not lose him again.  
“I do not understand.”  
  
“Oh, you don't have to.” Melancholy entered Haytham's expression, then his eyes began to glow again. “You will go to sleep now. You will also … forget my being here.”  
  
“No.” Connor complained weakly. Then he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore. His thoughts slipped away. No, he mustn't forget. Under no circumstances could he forget! He had to remember! He had to find his father and ask him, ask him so much. But as sleep engulfed him mercilessly all memories surrounding this nightly encounter had already vanished into darkness.  


* * *

  
Haytham had to hurry, it wasn't long until dawn now. He made it to the abandoned estate he had found in the woods in time, though the horizon was already painted a bright pink. Cursing quietly, he went down into the cellar, where his coffin stood. Well, it wasn't _his_ coffin precisely, it was stolen, but he couldn't have brought his personal, much more comfortable coffin all the way out into the frontier... that would have been ridiculous.

Haytham climbed into the reassuring darkness of the wooden box. Waiting for daily, deathlike sleep to claim him, he closed his eyes.  
  
Actually it wasn't so bad that Connor had been awake, if he thought about it. He hadn't wanted to risk it the nights before, since he'd been concerned his powers might fail to work on his strong-willed son.

Haytham licked his lips. Connor's blood was tastier than any other blood he had drunk before, but he hadn't anticipated just how much better it was when the boy was awake, when he made little noises as he let his father drain his lifeblood, heaving his torso up into the most beautiful curve, to be even closer to Haytham. It made his blood taste so much more … alive. Fear, arousal, affection. Haytham tasted every emotion in it and they had been delicious.  
He was sated, but the sheer appetite for his son was growing with every midnight refreshment he took.  
After Connor had murdered Charles, Haytham had contemplated turning the irritating child, to make him _his_. At the moment, however, he enjoyed him far too much living, breathing and wriggling beneath him. Maybe next time he'd make him moan as well. Hmm. Yes, he liked that thought.

The sun climbed over the horizon and Haytham's body succumbed to a death-like slumber. Until the next night.  


* * *

  
The crickets' chirping had been taken over by the birds' songs and the rays of the sun were warming Connor's skin. A fresh, salty breeze was waving the curtains and carried the chattering of sailors on their way from the tavern to the dock up into Connor's room.  
He blinked his eyes open. With a yawn he crawled out of his warm bed and stretched his arms.  
Getting dressed for the day, securely strapping on all his weapons, Connor missed the smudge of blood on his pillow.  
He could go to Corrine and Ollie's for breakfast. A hearty meal and the company of friends seemed like a good idea to him after having been holed up in his room for so long.  
  
The walk to the tavern was peaceful and Connor used the time to think about his duties for the day. He had to write a letter to his recruits in Boston, they hadn't sent word in a while.  
  
When Connor reached his destination, he opened the door and was welcomed by a wave of warm air that smelled of strong ale and hot meals.  
Doctor White, who sat on one of the tables close to the entrance, almost splashed his porridge across his lap upon seeing Connor in the doorway.  
A few shades paler than he had been moments ago, he exclaimed “You should be resting! Your wounds couldn't have just magically healed over night!”  
  
Connor blinked, dumbfounded for a moment. That was right, the wounds from his fight with Charles Lee … where were they? Just yesterday his side hadn't been well enough to even walk over to the Aquila and now?  
“They _have_ healed over night.” he said slowly, not sure what the meaning of this was either.  
How on earth was something like this possible?  
  
Doctor White continued to stare at him as if he were a ghost.  
“It's a miracle!” he muttered.  
  
Connor was glad that Doctor White's religion provided an explanation for the colonist, but he couldn't believe in it himself. Why would a god he didn't pray to help him in any way?  
Still utterly confused, he sat down beside the physician and waited for Corrine to serve his usual. As things were, he was at a loss what else to do anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> True Blood lore used as head-canon for this. So, Connor won't turn from Haytham's blood, but he'll have some superpowers for the next day ;-)


End file.
